


All My Loving Thoughts on Thee

by kingess



Series: A Thing of Beauty [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, mostly fluff and a tiny bit of feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:56:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingess/pseuds/kingess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan may or may not be madly in love with his best friend.</p><p>His best friend may or may not be completely oblivious.</p><p>A shared kiss may or may not change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Friends of the Abaisse I](https://archiveofourown.org/works/900259) by [elementalmystique](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementalmystique/pseuds/elementalmystique). 



> (1) This is my first Les Mis fic, so be nice.
> 
> (2) This was inspired by ElementalMystique (who may or may not have ruined my productivity by introducing me to les mis fanfic) and it is written to be canonical with her story. It's not necessary to read that story to understand this one (although there are a few oblique references to her work here and there), but her story is super duper good, so you should go read it anyway.

Jehan is just shy of seventeen when Olivier, his boyfriend of six months, breaks up with him.

It was about time, too.

 Which isn’t to say that Jehan isn’t a little sad and a little heart-broken, because he is, but he recently discovered what his friends had suspected for months: Olivier is a lying douchebag. All those times Olivier had bailed on him, citing excuses of sick relatives or an overload of homework? Yeah, it was all bullshit. He lied to get out of things he thought were boring or stupid—like going to The Bowery Poetry Club together or even attending Jehan’s music recital—and he lied to get Jehan to feel bad whenever he legitimately couldn’t do something Olivier wanted him to.  He knows now that almost everything Olivier ever told him was a lie and all of those lies were designed to turn Jehan into an obsequious little fuck-toy, because that’s all Olivier really wanted in the end.

And what hurts the most isn’t necessarily the idea that the relationship is over (because it wasn't that good of a relationship, and Olivier wasn't nearly as good at sex as he thought he was), but the fact that Jehan didn’t get to dump _him_ and didn’t get the chance to list off his grievances before kicking him to the curb.

But he still has his friends. Friends so close that they’re practically brothers—a practically made more practical by the fact that they all lived on the same street and at one point or another Jehan has spent more time at their houses than he has at his own. And once word got to them that Olivier had tried to rip his heart out of his chest (word got out, naturally, through Courfeyrac, who is usually Jehan’s go-to man in matters of the heart), all three of them had rallied around him and were doing their best to keep his mind off things.

Over the weeks since the break-up, even Enjolras, whose tolerance for matters of the heart is low even at the best of times, is doing his best to help.

Although, his definition of helping is dragging Jehan to protests and rallies and getting him involved in local political matters that Jehan didn’t even know _existed_ before Enjolras explained them to him.

Jehan appreciates his efforts, even if the last protest almost turned violent.

Combeferre is always good to have around in a crisis, of course. Calm and steady and level-headed and not without a large dose of sympathy.  But sometimes Jeahn doesn’t want calm reassurances that no, this isn’t his fault and he’s better off without Olivier anyway. And sometimes, when Jehan mentions something that Olivier did that still stings particularly bad, Combeferre gets that terrifying look in his eyes like he can’t think of a punishment bad enough for anyone who deliberately hurt one of his friends, and frankly, Jehan’s a little terrified of that look.

 Jehan’s biggest boon in this whole matter is Courf, who has been with so many girls that he knows the perfect way to handle heartbreak (even if he is more of the heartbreaker than the heartbeakee). After school, they usually head about to Jehan’s home—mostly because Jehan is an only child and they don’t have to worry about little siblings bugging them—and they’ll sit around and talk and joke and plot revenge while they (attempt to) do homework.

More often than not, the homework doesn’t get done until the late hours of the night.

Today they’re sitting in the entertainment room in the basement, because here they can close the door and have real privacy. His parents started a “No boys allowed in your bedroom behind closed doors” policy when he was dating Olivier (because they, like everyone else Jehan knew, seemed to see the darker side of Olivier that Jehan missed completely). The rule hadn’t stopped Jehan and Olivier from fooling around, of course, it only meant that they couldn’t fool around here. And besides, there was the basement loophole, which Jehan hasn’t mentioned to his parents (nor does he have any intention of mentioning it to his parents), because the rule only covers his bedroom and conveniently forgets the fact that it would be just as easy to have sex in the basement as it would in a bed.

Not that he’s having sex with Courfeyrac.

And it’s not like Courf has ever thought about having sex with Jehan, because of course he hasn’t and Jehan likes to pretend that he’s never thought about having sex with Courf either, even though it’s a big fat lie.

Courfeyrac is sitting on the floor with an open physics book in front of him, but Jehan knows he’s not actually studying because he’s carrying on about his latest conquest at school.

Not that Courfeyrac thinks of the girls that he flirts with, kisses, and has sex with as conquests. He’s not out to rule them or dominate them—his goal is to love them. And he does. Thoroughly. But Courf’s not the sort of guy whose attention can be held long by just one girl, and he carries with him a string of hearts he doesn’t realize he’s broken.

Jehan is only half-paying attention to Courf’s speech about the virtues of the latest girl. Normally he tries to pay attention because he knows he’s subjected Courf to enough talk of his crushes and his boyfriends over the years that it’s only fair to return the favor. But he can’t focus. He can’t.

At least not on Courfeyrac’s words, because there are plenty of other things about Courfeyrac that Jehan can’t seem to get off his mind. Like the way his v-neck t-shirt matches his eyes _perfectly_. The exact same shade of brown (brown is to boring of a word it’s more like cinnamon and chocolate), like the shirt was made to be worn by him. And the way Courfeyrac talks with his hands? Mesmerizing, as though he’s painting out a scene with his hands as he speaks. What his hands say is just as important as the words that come out of his mouth.

And his mouth. It’s perfect. It’s sinfully perfect, with his bottom lip just a shade smaller than the top. But they’re the perfect shape, really. And when he smiles, which he does pretty much all the time, his whole face lights up, but Jehan still can’t look away from his mouth. And he still can’t focus on anything except that he really wishes Courf would just _shut up_ and start kissing him already because a mouth that perfect will give perfect kisses and—

_Stop it. Just stop it._

It’s just the rebound talking, he thinks. He tugs at the end of braid and stares down at the text book in his lap. Courf is his best friend. But there’s nothing between them, not romantically anyway. Besides, Jehan knows that while Courf is attracted to boys—still no word on whether Courf has admitted that to himself yet or if he still pines after boys from afar—there’s little chance that Courf will ever act on that attraction because his family’s pretty conservative.

And even if he does act on it, Jehan knows that Courf’s bisexuality will probably just be a phase in his life, because it’s far easier to be straight than it is to be gay, and while the sex might be better with men (in Jehan’s opinion, at least) the family drama will be much easier with a girl.

 So staring at Courf’s lips and wondering what they taste like and what it would feel like to have Courf’s hands under his shirt is pointless. It just is. It doesn’t matter that all the girls Courferyrac’s been with consider him to be a perfect lover, it’s not something Jehan will ever have or ever know. So he might as well just forget about it.

Or maybe write a couple of poems that he’ll never show _anyone_ and then forget about it.

Henri Courfeyrac is not for him.

He’ll get over it. He’ll adjust to it. It’s not like this is the first time he’s had a crush on one of his friends. He spent a full month when he was fourteen crushing on Enjolras because he’s just so damn attractive and it was completely ridiculous, because it’s not like Enjolras is attracted—romantically or sexually—to anyone at all. Besides, this is probably just the rebound talking anyway.

That’s it. Just the rebound. Courf is a safe option to love. He’s someone that Jehan can love from afar, as he’s done for various crushes over the years. He knows that Courf cares for him, that Courf would do anything for him (he’s already offered to key Olivier’s car for him), and right now his heart needs that loyalty and that compassion and that honesty. He’s heart-sore because Olivier was a lying piece of crap, but Courf has never lied to him, and that’s what Jehan needs right now. So Jehan can quietly, secretly, silently leave his heart with Courf for a while—never telling Courf that he has it, of course—and then take it back when it’s healed up a bit and he’s ready to start dating again.

Yes. The perfect plan. Courf doesn’t even have to know.

He hears Courf mention the name of an actor from a superhero movie that just came out, and he jumps on the idea of being able to change the topic.

“He’s _really_ hot, though,” he says, refuting Courf’s claims of bad acting. “Like so hot that I want to have his babies.”

Courf looks at him like he’s lost his mind, which is fair enough because Jehan’s not sure he’s ever said something so stupid. “You want to have his babies?”

“Not like give birth to his babies,” he says, trying to make himself sound like less of an idiot. “Because that’s gross. But I’d marry him and we could have _really_ hot sex and then adopt babies. That’s kind of the same thing, right?”

Courf laughs. “Forget marriage and babies, you just want to have sex with him.”

“Okay, maybe,” he says, because sex is good and great, but he thinks it’s _so_ much better when there’s actual love and commitment and dedication behind it. But he probably wouldn’t turn down someone _that_ good-looking, even if there wasn’t love and commitment and dedication behind it. “But that’s not really the point, is it?”

“What’s it like to kiss guys?” Courf asks a little abruptly.

He’s been asking questions like this for years now. For Jehan, it was the first real indication that Courf was bisexual, or at the very least bi-curious. Asking a question like that once could just be curiosity from a boy who’s in love with the physical aspects of love. Asking it in almost every conversation they’ve ever had about romance? Yeah, that’s a sign that something else is going on.

“We’ve been over this,” Jehan says. “I’m not exactly the best person to ask.”

Courf rolls his eyes. “You’re the perfect person to ask.”

“Except I can’t tell you what you want to know.”

“I want to know what it’s like to kiss boys.”

Jehan shakes his head. “You want to know what it’s like to kiss boys in comparison to kissing girls—which I’ve never done. I can’t help you.” He pauses for a moment, then says, “That lying douchebag Olivier has kissed girls _and_ boys. You can ask him.”

He only brings up Olivier because he wants to hear that noise of disgust that Courf makes in the back his throat whenever Olivier’s name is mentioned. Jehan isn’t disappointed and he tries to pretend that the warmth he feels is from knowing his friend supports him and not because it makes Courf sound like some sort of romantic rival.

“Like I want to ask that lying piece of shit anything,” Courf says. “And this isn’t a compare and contrast question, Jehan.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Haven’t you written poems about this sort of thing? Just describe it to me!”

He has written poems about this sort of thing, but those aren’t the sort of poems that he’s in the habit of sharing with people. They’re too close to his heart and the idea of anyone reading them still feels a little too much like unzipping his skin and exposing his insides.

“I don’t imagine that it’s all that difference from kissing a girl,” he says. “It’s just lips.”

Which he knows isn’t quite true because the idea of kissing a girl just feels _wrong_ to him, but theoretically, lips are lips and mouths are mouths.

But Courf shakes his head. “Girl lips are fundamentally different from boy lips. Girls always have stuff on their mouths. Their lipstick tastes wretched, but the chapstick is pretty good.” He cocks his head to the side. “Have you ever kissed a boy wearing chapstick?”

“No,” he says, but now that Courf has mentioned it, Jehan’s back to staring at the other boy’s mouth and wondering what it’d be like.

He forces himself to stop, even though the act of dragging his eyes away from Courf’s lips is a herculean trial.

“Huh,” Courf says. He flops backwards to stare at the ceiling, and Jehan hates him for it a little because his shirt rides up just so, exposing an inch or so of skin above the waistband of his jeans and he wants nothing more than to touch it. “Boys lips are probably rougher,” he continues, unaware of the situation he’s just tossed Jehan in. “Maybe a little more chapped. I bet their hands are different too. Bigger, stronger, more calloused.”

Courf’s words are completely innocent, but Jehan’s imagination is not and all he can think about is Courf touching him, caressing him, and—

No. No. Absolutely not. He forces himself to recite _The Wasteland_ in his mind because it’s probably the worst poem he’s ever read, and not to mention the most depressing, and if T. S. Eliot’s self-aggrandizing rants can’t calm the heat in his blood then nothing can.

Courf is still talking because he has no effing idea what he’s doing to Jehan—though if he looked up, he’d probably get a pretty good idea because it’s not as though he can _hide_ the fact that his pants are practically tenting. “Hugging might not be as nice,” he says, still having a philosophical discussion with himself on the anatomical difference between girls and boys. “Boobs are soft. They’re really kind of nice, but at the same time, the sex is probably better mostly because it can take a long time for girls to get in the mood, but with guys, I’d think both of you are just ready to go, so—”

“You know what, just stop,” Jehan snaps. He’s on his feet, his textbook tossed aside and long-forgotten. He knows he’s being unreasonable. He knows it, but he’s not going to sit here and let Courf carry on like this.

Courf sits up. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Did it ever occur to you that if you wanted to know what it’s like to kiss a boy, you just had to _ask_?”

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do? You keep shutting me—”

“No, you idiot! Ask _me._ Ask me to kiss you. Ask if you can kiss me. Seriously, what’s wrong with you?”

Courfeyrac looks up at him in stunned silence and Jehan wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole because now that those words are out of his mouth, he can’t take them back and Courf was _never supposed to know_.

“It’s not that simple,” Courf says quietly after a long moment.

“Isn’t it, though? ‘Hey, Jehan, I think boys are hot and I want to kiss one. Do you mind?’ Or maybe, ‘Hey, Jehan, you’re gay and I’m too afraid to admit to myself that I’m bisexual, so could you please kiss me to help me come to terms with this?’ Dammit, Courf, it’s not like I’m expecting sonnets from you!”

“I’m not afraid!” Courf snaps. “And I’m not bi!”

“Oh really? Because thirty seconds ago you were just fantasizing about having sex with another _dude_. I think that makes you pretty bi!”

“I wasn’t—that’s not—”

“Face it, Courf. You are just as interested in getting laid by guys as you are by girls.”

“That’s easy enough for you to say! Your family doesn’t think being gay is some sort of aberration!”

Jehan feels his stomach turn to ice. “Is that what you think of me? Is that what your family thinks of me?” Because he loves Courf’s family. _Loves_ them. And he can’t stand to think that every time he leaves their house that their conversations turn into _It’s such a shame that the poor Prouvaire boy is gay. I wonder what we can do to fix him._

“Shit, Jehan, no. I—”

“Then why is a big deal that you like boys? If they’re fine with me and who I am—and let’s face it, I’m practically the poster-child for gay teenagers—then why wouldn’t they be fine with you?”

“Because you’re not their son! You’re not the family’s heir! You’re not responsible for upholding the family name! You’re—”

“Fuck, Courf, this is _your_ family we’re talking about, not Enjy’s. And this isn’t nineteenth century France! You’re free to love whoever you want—and I’ll bet ready money that your family will be _fine_ with it! Nobody cares about heirs and family names! I’ve never once heard your parents say anything negative about me, and I’m sure they’ve heard me talking about one of my boyfriends or one of my crushes before because I’m not exactly shy about that kind of thing!”

“I don’t know what you want me to do about all this!”

“I want you to kiss me, damn it! Why is that so hard to understand?”

There’s silence again, and all Jehan can hear is his heart pounding against his rib cage. This is it.  There’s no going back.

“You want me to kiss you?” Courf asks as he stands up.

“Yes.” There’s no hiding the desperation in that one word.

But Courf doesn’t move and they just stare at each other. Jehan feels exposed. He’s laid everything out for Courf and he’s met with silence and stares and—oh hell, why did he do this? He’s ruined everything. They’re friends. They’re practically brothers. And now Courf is going to be mortified and embarrassed and he won’t be able to look at him.

He spins around to leave, feeling some sort of pressure building in his chest and he wants to be out of Courf’s sight when that pressure becomes too much and he breaks.

But Courf grabs his arm and pulls him back around. They’re inches from each other. Jehan feels Courf’s breath on his face. And in another moment, Jehan is pressed up against the edge of the pool table and Courf’s body has meshed itself against his. Courf’s mouth is moving against his and their movements are in perfect harmony, like they are a duet designed for each other. He tastes like chocolate and cinnamon—a taste to match the perfect color of his eyes—and Jehan needs more.

He slips his hand under Courf’s shirt and he loves the smooth skin and the toned muscles and the way Courf has one hand in his hair and the other cups his hip, his thigh and why had no one ever told him that kissing could be this perfect?

Courf makes a sort of moaning sound against his mouth, and he opens his lips to invite Courf in. Teeth and tongues and lips expanding their duet into a full blown orchestra. Courf moves his hands to Jehan’s waist and lifts him just a little so that he’s sitting on the pool table and he wraps his legs around Courf’s waist, pulling him closer—he wants to be closer, he wants to be so close—and he grinds his hips against Courf’s. He leans into it—

And Courf is suddenly gone. He’s pulled away and he’s back up and his eyes are wide and he’s got a hand pressed to his mouth like he’s not sure what just happened.

“I’ve gotta go,” he says quickly. He doesn’t even bother to grab his textbooks or his backpack. He just turns around and takes the stairs two at time till he’s gone.

Alone in the basement, Jehan stares at the wall. His mind is trying to process and internalize, but this is beyond processing and internalization because Jehan knows that’s the best damn kiss he’s ever had.

It’s also the best damn kiss he’s ever likely to have, because the girls at school are right. Courf is the perfect lover and he knows exactly what to do with his hands and his mouth.

He leans forward so that his forehead is practically against his knees, and he knows he’s well and truly fucked because without a doubt he’s in love with Henri Courfeyrac.

And without a doubt Henri Courfeyrac breaks the hearts of everyone who loves him.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is aftermath.

Henri Courfeyrac is, without a doubt, the _worst_ thing that has ever happened to Jehan’s poetry. Which is obnoxious and infuriating all at the same time because after that (wonderful, beautiful, soulful) kiss they had in Jehan’s basement two _months_ ago, Jehan declared to himself that Courf was off-limits. He was, quite possibly, the most amazing kisser Jehan would ever meet, but he knows that getting involved with Courf will only end with him getting his heart broken, so Courf is off-limits.

Unfortunately, his heart hasn’t gotten the message from his brain yet and his heart hardly lets him write anything other than strained metaphors about stars and Courf’s eyes—which is ridiculous, because Courf’s eyes are nothing like stars, they’re warm and soft and more like chasms of molten chocolate—

And there he goes again. Chasms of molten chocolate? What’s wrong with him?

He used to be able to write _good_ poetry. He even used to be able to write good love poetry, because despite Enjolras’s insistence that romance is just a useless distraction from more important issues, Jehan still believes that love is important (and probably more important than most of Enjolras’s causes, but he doesn’t mention that to his friend) and that it deserves the time and attention and the literature devoted to it.

But he can’t stop thinking about Courf even though he tells himself daily that it’s a lost cause and he’d be better off finding another nice boy who wouldn’t break his heart.

Other nice boys can’t compare to Courf, though.

And it sucks.

The way Courf keeps carrying on doesn’t help either. Now that he’s discovered the joys of kissing boys, he’s moving through them at an alarming rate. At the end of the day, Jehan is happy for his friend. He really is. He’s so happy that Courf’s parents and his sisters were so understanding when he came out to them. He’s happy that Courf is comfortable with himself—with all of himself—and that he doesn’t feel the need to hide who he is.

He’s considerably less happy with the fact that Courf acts like nothing has changed between them and that he talks about the boys he’s kissed and fooled around with the same he used to talk about the girls he’s kissed and fooled around with. It’s hard listening to Courf talk like that when all he wants is to be the center of Courf’s attentions, but he reminds himself that it’s for the best because Courf is just as good at breaking boys’ hearts as he is at breaking girls’ hearts.

Jehan finds himself spending more and more time with Enjolras, who despite his now two forays into the world of sex and sexuality still appears largely asexual, and at the very least he never wants to talk about love and romance and he certainly never thinks to ask Jehan how he’s holding up—which Combeferre has done a few times, which Jehan hates because he hates to think that people notice how head over heels he is for Courf—although Enjolras did once (jokingly) blame Jehan for Courf’s increased flirtations by telling him that he “created a monster” when he kissed Courf in the first place.

And when Jehan _wants_ to talk about Courf, Enjolras will listen even if he doesn’t quite understand because he is a good friend even if he can be a little uptight.

But Thanksgiving has just passed and Christmas is approaching and every single commercial on TV is about finding the perfect gift for that “special someone” and Jehan finds himself wanting to talk about Courf less and less. All he can think is that he does want to get the perfect gift for Courf and that Courf will probably be too busy accepting gifts from his many admirers to even notice Jehan’s.

He knows he’s being mopey and pathetic, but that doesn’t keep him from wanting to spend all day in his house wearing sweatpants and wasting time trying to figure out what exactly about the new flower arrangements isn’t quite working.

But his parents still make him go to school every morning, so he’s sitting alone in an empty computer lab (well, empty save the recent college grad they’ve hired to babysit the computers but she looks like the school doesn’t pay her enough to care that he’s skipping study hall) and he’s trying to think of what he can say or do that will fix this whole mess.

It’s here that Courf finds him.

He spares one glance at the computer lab attendant, who’s too busy reading a book to care that he’s here without a hall pass, and he takes a seat at the computer next to Jehan’s.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in study hall right now?” he asked.

Jehan gives him a look. “Aren’t you supposed to be in physics right now?”

“Touche,” he says. “I wanted to talk to you, though.”

“It couldn’t have waited till after school?”

This time, Courf gives him the look and Jehan forces himself to look away because Courf is just so damned attractive. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I have not.”

“Don’t even try to tell me you’re not avoiding me,” he says. “I’m not an idiot. I know something’s…off between us. Not to mention I’ve got both Combeferre _and_ Enjolras telling me that I need to talk to you, so even if I were an idiot, I’d still know that we need to talk.”

Jehan braces himself for a _you’re one of my best friends, and yeah you’re a damn good kisser, but you’re like a brother to me and I’m not into incest_ speech. “Then talk.”

“Not here,” Courf says, casting another glance at the computer lab attendant. He takes Jehan by the hands and tugs him to his feet.

Jehan follows along with half-hearted protests because all he can think is _Courf is holding my hand_ and it’s been so long since he’s touched Courf at all that his heart is pounding.

The halls are empty and Courf is walking so fast that Jehan is practically running to keep up with him. But there’s something thrilling about this. Something about running through empty school halls, being led by Courf to some unknown destination that has Jehan wanting to slow down and remember every single detail of every single second so that he can capture it again in words later.

Courf pulls him into a room he’s never been in before and he flips on the lights. Whatever room this is, it’s not a normal classroom with desks and chairs and tidy little rows. There are a couple high work tables and the first thing Jehan notices is that all of them are covered in flowers.

Silk flowers, to be sure, the kind that florists use in their arrangements, but flowers nonetheless. He turns back around to look at Courf, who has his back pressed against the door like he’s preventing Jehan from escaping.

He’s wearing the goofiest smile Jehan has ever seen and all it makes him want to do is kiss him.

“Courf,” he says, “what is all this?”

“It’s the floral design classroom,” he says. “I know some girls who’ve taken this class. Sadly, I can’t let you take the flowers out, but I thought this would be the sort of place where you’d want to have this conversation.”

“And what conversation would that be?”

“The ‘I’m such an ass for not realizing how wonderful you are’ conversation.”

Jehan takes a step back so that he’s got the weight of the work table to support him. “You what?”

“I’m an ass,” he says. He offers up a cheesy little self-deprecating smile. “You remember two months ago when we sorted of shouted at each other in your basement and then had that earth-shattering sort of kiss?”

“It rings a bell,” he says, even though he can remember every single detail of that kiss.

“Well, we kissed and I realized a lot of things about myself and about who I am, and because of that kiss I worked up the nerve to talk to my sisters and then my parents about how I felt, and that’s not something I think I would have done otherwise. And once I learned that they didn’t care who I kissed and they didn’t care if I liked boys or girls or both, I kind of got a little stupid.”

“A little stupid?” Jehan asks.

“A lot stupid,” he corrects. “You know how I am. I mean, we’ve known each other for _years_ , man. I like kissing and I like _more_ than kissing and suddenly I had twice as many people I could kiss and it just seemed that my options were limitless and I was so excited about things that I forgot about you.”

“You didn’t forget about me,” he says because there have been days when he wishes Courf would forget about him. Days when he wishes that Courf wouldn’t come over and want to talk about boys and school and things because it was so damned hard to listen to him talk and not want more.

“I did in all the ways that matter,” Courf says. He steps away from the door and grabs a long-stemmed flower off the table. He twirls it between his fingers. “I forgot about what a phenomenal kiss you gave me. I forgot about that look in your eyes when you told me that you wanted me to kiss you. I kind of forgot that you were my best friend and that you know me better than anyone else. And I forgot that in the midst of all my feelings and all my discoveries, you still have feelings too…and I don’t think I imagined the feelings you were feeling when we kissed.”

Jehan can hardly breathe because he can hardly bear to think that Courf is saying what he thinks he’s saying. So he catches himself on something innocuous to ground him. “The feelings I was feeling?” he asks, trying to smile. “That’s a bit redundant, don’t you think?”

“I’m not good with words the way you are,” he says.

Which isn’t quite the truth because Jehan thinks Courf is a remarkable public speaker. Not quite on par with Enjolras, but still pretty damned good.

“And besides, my awful word choices aren’t when matters here,” he says. “What matters is that I was a complete jerk to you.”

“It’s fine—”

“It’s not fine, Jehan. I’ve been running around these last two months trying to find a boy who could kiss me like you did, who could make me feel like you did. But there aren’t other guys like you, Jehan. You’re completely one of a kind and I was stupid to think I could find that anywhere else.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to say that I’d like to kiss you again,” he says, handing the flower in his hand to Jehan. “I’m trying to say that you made me feel things I’d never felt before, and it’s not just because it was the first time I kissed a boy. That was important, yeah, but what was more important is that it was the first time I kissed _you._ ”

He leans in and kisses Jehan. Their second kiss. And it’s everything their first fiery kiss was not. This one is sweet and gentle and so tender that Jehan practically whimpers, and the sound encourages Courf to move closer until they’re standing so close they’re practically one person. Courf cups the back of his head and Jehan melts into the sensations.

When Courf pulls away—slowly, gradually, with little kisses along the way—he’s smiling. “Why don’t we give this a chance?” he asks.

After months of telling himself that he can’t have Courf, Jehan shakes his head.

The hurt in Courf’s eyes breaks his heart. “Why not?” he asks. “What do we have to lose?”

“Everyone who has ever loved you has had their heart broken,” Jehan whispers. “I can’t let that happen to me. I can’t become one more heart that you stole in a long line of others.”

“I won’t break your heart,” he says.

“Courf, I—”

“Jehan, have I ever lied to you?”

“No.”

“Then believe me now, baby, I won’t break your heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super duper loosely based on Sarah Kaye's spoken word poem called "Worst Poetry." You can enjoy it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4_XSaIKpmLk


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